


Belonging

by TownOfHypocrisy



Category: Cursed (TV 2020), Nimue/Lancelot - Fandom, cursed Netflix - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25593361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TownOfHypocrisy/pseuds/TownOfHypocrisy
Summary: Why does Lancelot and Nimue feel such a strong pull to one another? What is it that the hidden is not telling them, and how are their destinies intertwined?Daily updates!
Relationships: Gawain & Nimue (Cursed), Lancelot/Nimue (Cursed)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

Through weary eyes Lancelot spied the scenery ahead of them, mapping out each curve and twist and bend of the earth and where and when it greeted the water. Percival was merciless to the horse beneath him, leading him to what the boy thought was nowhere. Yet if Lancelot knew anything, it was that there are no coincidences , only destiny. 

The horse stopped abruptly, snorted and then whined for half a minute before they realised it had tired and camp was to be made. Percival, true to his nickname, darted off the horse in a scurry and tried to support Lancelot as he toppled over to meet cold, hard and unforgiving ground. 

“Ugh...”

“Stay put, your wounds aren’t getting any better. I’ll go and gather some firewood.”

And like that, he was off in a flash.

Barely above a whisper, “Well, they weren’t wrong when they named you, boy”

But Percival was far gone and into the thickets to hear what he’d said.

When was the last time he’d been this drained? He couldn’t remember. Everything was a blur to him right now in his feverish state. The one thing he knew was that he needed water and needed it NOW.

Crawling with what strength he had left, he spotted the outline of a large lake spanning the conifers and took off toward it. His back oozed blood like the river Nile father had taught him from the scriptures and his rib cage heaved from heavy bruising that he was no stranger to. These injuries were no different from the ones he’d endured through his indoctrination, except it was administered by The Trinity Guard. He could bet his lucky stars they wouldn’t be healing anytime soon, if ever. 

Finally reaching the rim, he gulped it down greedily, feeling it cleansing him from its purity. Ripping off his clothes, he submerged himself in it until it was level with his upper chest whilst he closed his eyes and searched for the hidden, calling it, coaxing it to his need.

“Veni ad me. Da mihi virtutem...”

A mist wrapped itself around him, encasing him in a shield and twisting itself from the water and up into the skies. 

He felt skin knit itself together, joints align and bruises mellow. Blood that had mixed with the water now entered him once more and he was reborn.

Still with his eyes closed, he let all of himself be engulfed by the water by falling in, and let it tell him its secrets, its history and its future. He sensed a familiar smell wading towards him and he rose out of the lake suddenly, with water streaking down the angles of his sharp body.

Wiping his eyes, he adjusted them to his surroundings and spotted a blue dress caught in some driftwood, picked it off and took a deep inhale of its scent. It was the Fey Queens’ Scent. He was sure of it. 

Had she discarded it in the water to cover her tracks? Or was it taken from her? 

He tried to hone in on its scent, but it fills the entirety of the water in no time, making the ability to pin her whereabouts impossible. 

He feels something pulling at his chest, but there is nothing on it. Rather the pull is from inside, and he has a sickening feeling that somehow he is connected to all of this.

He swims strongly and under the current where it tries to take him. Yet he is too quick for it, and he slides through it where a light above illuminates what is there.

It’s her...

Unconscious and from the looks of it drowned. 2 arrows protrude menacingly from her and she is lost to the world and from the serenity of the water, time itself. 

He yanks her, arm first, away from the watery grave and into the air, wrapping his arms around her naked waist as he hoists her onto land. 

There isn’t a moment to lose, and he lays her ashore, body splayed on the ground open as he lays his hands on her chest and pumps it vigorously, willing life into dead limbs. 

She is unmoved and he decides to change tactic. Parting her lips he seals hers with his own and breathes life back into her. The ash folk were renowned for the powers of their breath as it was used to heal what were considered lost causes.

And true to the power of his blood, she coughed to consciousness and spluttered out the remaining water in her system. 

When her eyes flickered open, sky met ash and they were held almost transfixed from the intensity of the others’ gaze. Both were blue - one and the same. 

Nimue felt awfully exposed... not from being naked in front of him, but from the way he looked at her as though it was right through her. She broke the eye contact first, a heat making its way to her cheeks.

He was not unaware of her state or his and he courteously fetched his cloak and wrapped it around her. 

Nimue bit down on the lip that wanted to give way to pride. She knew who this man was. How could she forget him? He had haunted her nightmares for weeks. Yet he had saved her for whatever reason. She owed him her life now.

“Thank you. Although I don’t know why you helped me.”

Lancelot presses a leaf to his skin and they both watch as it scales over green.

“This is why. We are the same you and I. There is much to be asked and answered yet we must get you somewhere warm before you catch a chill.”

She has barely a moment to register the shock that crosses her features at this display before he sweeps her up and into his arms and carries her back to camp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m really getting into writing this, one for escapism and the other because I MUST have this ship sail. Enjoy!

Jumping over brambles and thistles, Percival scurries back to the camp as quickly as he can. He knows that leaving the monk there was a perilous decision, but there was one able body between them and light was dying fast. Not to mention the wounds would need to be cauterised to stop infection. That’s what they did to stop infections, wasn’t it? He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try.

When he came to the clearing that he left Lancelot, he was surprised to find, what looked from a distance, a friend? They were sat resting opposite the monk on a long log. Yet they made no sound or conversation, just merely STARING at each other.

What the...? From getting closer he could see if was no stranger, it was Nimue!

“Nimue!”

“Squirrel! Thank goodness you’re alive!”

Nimue scampered towards him as fast as she could in her injured state, picking him up in her arms and swinging him around in delight.

“Where on the God’s earth have you been?”

Percival, the thrill-seeking happy child he was, blurted out, “I went to rescue the Green Knight but he was unable to move so I caught by Paladin scum and an ugly man with no eyes”.

She tutted at this and lightly smacked him over the head.

“What have I told you about getting yourself into danger? It’ll be the death of you Squirrel must less than the death of me.

She hugs him tightly for a moment and Lancelot averts his gaze to give them a moment. The boy was his salvation, and he’d just found the mother of it...

Nimue breaks the embrace enough to see his face and gives the monk one of her infamous ‘they’re trouble’ side glances.

“That doesn’t explain your friend over here, however.”

Lancelot speaks up, “We are no friends, but two souls bonded by shared suffering and plight. I rescued him and he rescued me.”

Squirrel nodded, bemused, “He doesn’t talk that much and he says everything like it’s the end of the world, but I like him, Nimue.”

Nimue simply stares him out as she has been doing the last 10 minutes and he with her. 

“His character is still to be determined. Don’t for a second think because he saved your life squirrel, he is to be trusted. We have no idea if he is a spy sent to trick us by the Red Paladin.”

She grows bold now, taller again, her power returning to her.

Lancelot stands to greet her, his height towering compared to her own as he stops his face inches from her own. 

Squirrel watches anxiously at the display. 

“I have no interest in trickery. It is for fools and charlatans. You can take my word or my life when I say no harm will come to you. Which will it be, Fey Queen?”

Squirrel was not wrong, the man has not a flippant bone in his body.

He burns her with the intensity of his fire blue eyes and she drops her guard just a little.

“Fine. But I do not trust you, I will not. Don’t think about pulling a fast one. I will have my eyes on you always”.

His breath is hot on her skin.

“I should hope so, Witch. I’m hoping you’ll live up to the tales about you.”

She lashes back all pride, “Don’t call me that!”

“But that is what you are... you summon the hidden on a whim and use it to do your bidding, do you not? That is the power of a witch”. 

Softer now he says, “Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour, and it can never be used to hurt you...”

He looks intensely distant at this, as though it reminds him of of how he came to be, and then it is shaken off just as quickly as it appears. 

They make a campfire in no time, and within 5 minutes of the monk disappearing into the forest, he comes back with a whole hind and discards it over his shoulder at Nimue’s feet like some prize.

She and squirrel startle and her out of her reverie, and looks up at him bewildered.

“Erm... how on Earth are we going to eat all of that.”

He chuckles for the first time.

“You mustn’t know a man then.”

She bites back, “I’ve known one alright.” She blushes at that and he catches it. “But none as inhuman as your appetite.”

He bristles slightly for some reason, “You’re right about one thing, I am as human as you are, Milady. We both consort with the devil.” 

Squirrel licks his lips at the deer and begins to skin it with his knife whilst his two unofficial guardians bicker. 

He zones in again when he has it skewered and roasting and notices they are back to staring each other out. He’s never taken things that seriously as he’d much rather let everything fly over his head and lead his imagination to knights and warriors and battles and adventure instead.

The Weeping Monk divvies up the catch for them all and she can’t help but notice the way the firelight dances on his face - a warm orange meeting black trails. His eyes are in the direction of his food, but they are far past that, far past everything. Deep and fathomless and-

He catches her gaze, “Something you wish to say?”

“I was thinking about my friends... The ones I left behind before I ended up here.”

Squirrel perks up at this, “What happened?”

“I got shot by someone who I thought was a friend, crossing a waterfall to save my Fa- Merlin with Morgana. I was too weak to hold on”.

She looks dismayed at this admission as though she bore the weight of responsibility solely for what happened.

“I don’t know if they are even alive or if Iris has taken them!”

Slowly but surely, her memory and senses catch up to her after an adrenaline filled couple of hours. She sags her head into the palm of her hands from worry.

Percival sits beside her and rests a hand on her back.

Lancelot speaks barely above a whisper, “Can you feel them?”

“What?!”

“I’m asking you, what can you feel? If they are dead you will surely feel it. You have Sky blood running through your veins. You know the way.”

“How did you know?”

He looks away from her to conceal his thoughts, “That does not matter. What matters now are your friends. Reach out to them.”

With the strength of the hidden, she closes her eyes and tries to imagine it like he said. She feels her familiar green leaf veins appear on her skin and she reaches...

She sees two energy signatures. One red, her Father, and the other a dull white, Morganas. 

She exclaims with glee, “I can feel them!”

And the Weeping Monk just watches in knowing, Squirrel now more curious than he was before about the man opposite him.

Lancelot hears a snap of twigs in the distance about 100 metres away and takes his sword from its scabbard quicker than Percival can register.

“Get up! There are Paladins crawling in this place. We must make haste!”


	3. Chapter 3

“Land of bear and land of eagle. Land that gave us birth and blessing. Land that called us ever homeward, we will go home across the mountains-“

“What’s that song?” Morgana interjects at Merlin, who is crouched over damp ground singing.

“It’s a song my mother used to sing to me and her mother before that. It’s the song of searching for home.”

Morgana, weary from their journey and the past couple of hours’ ordeal snaps.

“There is no home! I have none now. It burnt down. Instead I’m fighting a lost cause shovelling Fae shit.”

“Calm yourself. You’ve been through a lot the past couple of days. You must learn to go inward instead of outward. There you’ll find the peace and strength you need.” 

Morgana standing behind Merlin as he watches for whatever magical sign he needs, rolls her eyes like an impatient teenager.

“You know that’s rude. Didn’t someone ever teach you to respect your elders?”

“Why am I not surprised? The great Merlin has eyes at the back of his head as well.”

“I see everything, child. You should take better care to realise that.”

Merlin, feeling the earth fresh with water tries to sense his kin. She is further downstream than he first thought... Avalon, maybe?

Morgana, clearly restless prods, “Any luck?”

“She’ll be at the river Avalon. If she’s not dead that is.”

Morgana closes her eyes and inhales heavily, “I do not feel she is. She is still alive, but barely. We must get to her quickly.”

———————————————————

Squirrel grits his teeth as his blood boils at the mention of Paladins.

“I’ve been waiting for my revenge. For the green knight!”

And at that, he pulls out a small knife and thrusts it into the air.

“Woah, calm down there, boy. They are men and you are half of one. The best you’ll do is distract them for a couple of minutes. You will fight, but not today. Put your knife back in its holder.”

Nimue tries to think of a strategy, a way of using the hidden, but her mind is blank. She needs something to make her emotional, something to make her angry...

She knows exactly what to do. 

She walks up to the monk who has his sword brandished and waiting. He reeks of death and destruction, power and purpose...

“Make me angry.”

Lancelot stares at her in confusion, “What?!”

“I said, I want you to make me angry. I have a plan, but I need you to follow me. Will you do that?”

He nods silently to her, his hood obscuring half of his face. He’s in that zone, she thinks. The state of mind of a killer hunting its prey.

“You know, I knew all along you were there when I burnt your village to the ground. I would burn it all again just to find you.”

He didn’t have to do much, she could already feel her anger bubbling to the surface. Her mother helpless and dying flashes to mind.

“Monster,” she spits at him, forgetting about the fact she’d asked him to hurt her. All she wanted to do now was to hurt him. 

“Yes, I am. After what your kind took from me, they created this. They are nothing better than self-righteous, pious fools - all of them. May they pass in the twilight and never see dawn again.” 

“ENOUGH!”

Red Paladins swarm the crest of the hill in no time and charge towards them in angry cries of “uprooting the devil’s weeds”.

All Nimue can think about in her enraged state is raising hell.

She closes her eyes as green veins glow strongly from her face, 

“Uproot this.”

The earth shakes for a moment and causes some Paladins to lose their footing whilst roots shoot up from the ground and weave themselves over them like wooden tombs. 

The ones ensnared cry out, but Nimue isn’t finished. She wants blood. She wants to paint the ground scarlet - just as they did to her home. She wants vengeance...

There are too many for her to contend with and some escape as she tries to spread her focus evenly. 

She sees the image of her clan butchered, throats slit open and lifeless bodies slumping to the floor.

Her eyes take on a dark golden hue and before she realises, the ground is sinking beneath Paladin feet like quick sand, eating them up and suffocating them below ground. She hears their muffled screams below, but it’s never enough... it’ll never be enough...

The monk brings her back to reality, “Stop this, you’ve done enough. They’re dead. They’ve been dead for awhile, Nimue.”

She lets up and the veins recced back into her skin.

She looks toward Squirrel and he looks back at her at something akin to fear.

The shame kicks in. 

“I... I don’t know when to stop. I can’t control this.” 

Lancelot marvels at the carcasses of dead brothers opposite with the same fascination he’d had with her first stunt... ‘one girl, did all of this?’.

“You will. I will teach you.”

Suddenly, a stray Paladin comes flying out towards them aiming his sword high above him head for Nimue. 

Lancelot, in less than a second throws his sword into the air towards him, making it spin before it finds its target in the brothers chest, nailing him to a tree, dead. 

“Lesson one, always cover your back.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need therapy for this obsession, it’s unhealthy 😂

Lancelot looks at the monk skewered to the tree and prises his sword free. 

“We cannot stay here, it’s not safe. I know the ley of this land. There’s a cave hidden behind the back of a waterfall a mile or so from here. We should reach it before nightfall.”

Squirrel pipes up, “There’s only one horse though and three of us!”

“I’ll walk. The both of you need rest.”

Squirrel stares at Lancelot confused.

“But you were bleeding moments before. You nearly passed out from your wounds! Where are they now?”

Nimue watches as Lancelot stops moving and drops his voice an octave, “Is this true?”

“Lets just say I know a thing or two about healing. Come, there is not much time to spare.”

When they reach their destination, twilight is in full swing and the waterfall that cascades over them like a shield wall is barely visible.

They make camp again and Nimue lights a fire using the hidden.

Percival’s face lights up in pure delight at this, and he cosies himself beside it, using what soft fabric he has to form a pillow and blanket and nestles into sleep. 

Lancelot peers over too, albeit less impressed.

“You know, you should not use the hidden so trivially.”

Nimue walks up to Lancelot after giving Squirral a kiss goodnight and joins him in his guard watching duties, sitting beside him overlooking a large rock pool.

“And what would you know about the hidden?”

He sighs in that half-weary, half-morose way of his.

“More than I’d like to know.”

He cleans his sword over and over with the same bit of cloth as though trying to wipe something imaginary away but never succeeding. 

Nimue sits in companionable silence with him and mulls over the events of the day, where she must go to next, her friends, her people, the enemy and for now, her temporary ally. 

She must get to Merlin and Morgana. The sword was everything to her people, their hope, their history and their future. She would die before seeing it taken.

Was this her life now? As some fugitive? Underground queen to the outcasts and refugees? 

How many more Red Paladin would they have to kill before they were safe? And then what about King Uther? King Cumber? So many kings and high politics and enemies surrounding her... her father was right. 

Would life ever be as Peaceful as it was in the Village of Sky? She doubted it. 

Just then, she is interrupted from her thoughts by a deep voice as thick as honey.

“You asked me what I knew of the hidden...”

He turns towards Nimue and looks at her the same intense way he always does, eyes beseeching not her, but her soul. 

There is something soft in his expression this time and he leans towards her as if it could be lost at any moment. 

“Can you see the marks around my eyes?”

How could she miss them? She’d never seen anything like them.

He holds her hand in his and brings it to his face so that she can trace their outline, them running like tear tracks down his face. 

He closes his eyes as she strokes his face, as though it brings him great peace and strangely, it has the same effect on her. 

As though under her spell, still with his eyes closed, he speaks freely to her. 

“I was born of the Ash clan. We were one of the four most powerful Fey clans at the time. My people use the hidden as you yourself possess, although not to the same degree. We could only manipulate fire, which is how we got our name, as we’d turn our enemies to ashes...”

Nimue listens on, all astonishment. She rests her palm on his right cheek still, afraid to move it in case she breaks whatever charm she’s cast on him.

“However my father didn’t follow our rules. He married outside the clan to a member of the rival River clan, my mother. Their people could manipulate water and naturally they were our sworn enemies. He was the High Priest though and he claimed her by the Law of Destiny - no one could argue against it. My father was a visionary however, and he wanted to unite all four clans. So when I was born, I was betrothed by the Law of Destiny to a member of your clan, the Sky clan. They did not honour the Law of Destiny though and sought to isolate themselves away from all clans forever.”

He open his eyes now fully, his gaze burning her as he drinks her in.

“If you refuse the Law of Destiny, the hidden find a way to punish you sooner or later until it is corrected.”

He threads his fingers through hers and her head is reeling at how quickly this is all happening. Wasn’t he her enemy a moment ago? Why does it feel so right and why does her body hum in longing when he’s around her?

Not able to look him in the eye any longer, she focuses on their entwined hands instead.

“Why don’t I know ANY of this? Why would my clan hide all this from me?”

He sees that she’s on the precipice of breaking down, her whole world being thrown into question and the truth being thrust upon her all too soon. He knew he should have held back, but she has a strange affect on him and she makes him say more in 5 minutes than he has in months. 

“Your clan stole from me what was mine. Your elders turned their backs on the old way as they believed themselves to be above it.”

She doesn’t know what to believe anymore... all she can think of is his skin against hers sending sparks all through her nervous system. 

She feels overcome was some intense force and she struggles to catch her breath, her question coming out as a whisper, “Who are you to me?”

He pulls her closer to him and cups her face with his hands this time, caressing her cheek as she was doing to his moments before. 

He wants her to look at him, but she fears if she did, he would consume her. 

He gently lifts her chin up to meet his gaze and she feels she is drowning in the deep blue pools of his eyes.

“Nimue, you are my betrothed...”

And with that, he closes the distance between them and she is lost in him and his embrace as he kisses her. And finally, she remembers what home is... 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I promise to update every day? Whoops, sorry. Hopefully this will make u for it 😁

Stirring beneath the undergrowth, shrouded in vines, a man stirs, groggy from days of sleep. 

With one arm reaching out, he rips the foliage from his body and pushes himself up using his arms to propel him from behind. 

He runs a stressed hand through thick locks of tousled brown hair and takes off to find a sword.

From peering out of the tent, Paladin bodies litter the ground everywhere, and Gwain is confused as to what’s transpired. Did his kind make an ambush on the Paladins and Uther? Surely not...

He stays close to the shadows of the tent and eavesdrops on a conversation the guards are having a couple of feet away.

“Took them all out he did. All by himself. The deserter,” he hears him spit on the ground, “Always had my suspicions about the weeping scum. He didn’t have the same smell to him as everyone else.”

“What about the boy?”

“He took him along with him for some reason. Last anyone saw of them, they were heading west. Most likely to a Fey camp.”

They’re alive at least, Gwain thinks to himself. Maybe his words did have some influence after all?

Stealthily, he grabs whatever clothes he can find from the dead Paladins, garbs himself in a red tunic and takes off in direction of the nearest horse.

Although taking care not to be seen, the two guards from before call out to him.

“Oi, not seen you around here before. State your business!”

With a red hood covering most of his face, he turns around enough to give the proper courtesy, “Father Carden has requested horses to be brought to him at once.”

The two guards brandish their swords immediately.

“Father Carden is dead! Infiltrator!” 

It’s then that Gwain seizes the chance to dive onto one of the stallions in the pen and kicks it into motion just in time before they catch up.

Yet he’s not clear of all of them, as he sees another Paladin at 9 o’clock throw an axe aiming straight for his head. 

Time slows down and theres no way he’ll miss it by mortal standards. 

He closes his eyes and calls out to the hidden, its power filling his body as he summons the wind to sweep it away and out of his trajectory.

It clatters in time to the floor effortlessly and he rides on determinedly and out of sight of all red foe.

There is one name that calls out to him. 

Nimue

He must find her...

—————————————————

She feels him consuming her, his hot fiery passion burning her insides and spreading through her, claiming each part of her more with each kiss. She wants to melt into him, yield to the effect he has on her. 

Her body acts on its own accord, opening up to him and unfurling like a flower, receptive to all of him. Sparks fly behind closed eyes and she can see nothing but the whiteness of ecstasy. 

Nimue threads her hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and deepens the kiss. 

In response, he gently lays her down to lie against the sand and rests a hand over her chest.

“This is what I want, Nimue. Not just you, but your soul.”

She looks up at him, one of his hands placed at the side of her head, him staring unfathomably deep at her.

“I don’t even know your name and yet I feel I know you. How is this?” She asks half-incredulously, half-indignant. 

He smiles for the second time that day.

“Lancelot - my name is Lancelot. That was my name a long time ago. And you’ll know - when the time is right - just as I did.”

Nimue feels her head splitting open and some mother of migraines beginning to develop. All of this is too much for her. The way she acted... with such wild abandon, suck recklessness... what was she thinking? 

Before she can reel in her anger, she slaps him. Slaps him hard.

He flinches, but barely. 

“Not bad... nice back hand you have. That’ll come in handy in the future.”

“Don’t patronise me... Lancelot.”

She can tell he is stung, although he hides it expertly. 

Her voice comes out uneven, “I can’t be betrothed. I don’t believe in it. My mother was betrothed to my father and he left her...”

He raises a brow, mildly amused.

“You think I would leave you?”

“No, yes, I don’t know anymore. Betrothals are an old custom and I believe in choosing your own path.”

He inches closer to her and she backs away scared at the now seriousness of his changed demeanour that emanates thick around him.

She continues to take a step back until she hits the surface of a rock wall. 

He simply walks up to her and puts each hand around her head, trapping her where she is.

He speaks deeper, lower to her, “You are entitled to believe what you want, but in my experience personal choice is just destiny masquerading itself. You can try and run from it, and for a time you may succeed. But it is ultimately our souls that steer us,” His breath is hot in her ear and it sends a delicious wave of pleasure rippling through her. “Unfortunately for you, Nimue, my soul knows yours rather well.” At that, the tendrils of pleasure shoot straight down her spine and between her legs where she throbs in agony. 

He glances towards her lips and back up to her eyes before pulling away from her.

She doesn’t know if she is relieved or disappointed. 

“Get some rest, Fey Queen. It’s almost first light.”

He resumes wiping his sword again over and over with cloth as he meditates on the forest in the distance. 

She makes bed and before long, loses consciousness, one question dying on her lips as she does...

WHO is she?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was very excited writing this chapter as wanted to flesh Lancelot out more and also introduce some very fun and new dynamics which you will find out about at the end! Thank you so much for your support and comments! ☺️

He’s never been one for sleeping. The past haunts him too heavily and his dreams are nothing but carnage and blood... so much blood. How many people has he killed in God’s name? He dreads to think. All he can hear is the screams, the pleads, the crying... the suffering.

He is drenched in blood. That’s why he could no longer wear the Paladin uniform. Its scarlet hue a reminder of what he was, what he did. 

Murder is not as straightforward as people think. No one is born a murderer, a killer. No, instead they become one. Hardened by trauma and bad experiences to the point that something flicks inside them and their humanity: compassion and empathy, takes a back seat. 

He looks over to where she is lying, all vulnerable and so at peace in her dreams. She is so pure, so untouched by the cruelties of life in her youthfulness. She’s no more than 10 years his junior, but her clan sheltered her well and he has that to thank them for at least. 

Whilst life had been hard on him, it had been merciful toward her until recently. He’d rather keep it that way; he was there beside her now to ensure that it would continue to be merciful. Or God help him, he’d make the world burn. 

From the first moment he’d looked at her, he’d known. He was informed far too late that the assault was going to be on the Sky folk. He wanted no part of it and took to burning the forests instead. But his soul could not forgive him for turning a blind eye and so he had ventured out of the forests and into their settlement to watch as his destiny was stolen from him. 

That was when he glimpsed her. Backed up against a hut and shielding herself from the Paladin attacks. The most beautiful woman he’d ever beheld in his life. She had made eye-contact with him for what seemed like forever and he knew right then and there that he’d do anything for her. Sell his soul to the devil if he hadn’t already taken it. He had felt his legs take him to him and found himself kneeling before its incarnate, father Carden, and begging for the attacks to be called off, that they’d killed enough. He had placed a hand on his shoulder and called his minions to cease. 

He had seen the light that day, and still being on his knees, seen it disappear from hell as quickly as it came through the Black Forest. 

If there’s one thing he’d learned, it was that destiny had legs and he’d finally, after years, gotten strong enough to catch up...

First light begins to break and, feeling secure enough about their safety, he decides to wash himself in the rock pool not too far ahead. 

Nimue not long after stirs to full consciousness to hear the birds chirping and water splashing lazily around her. It takes her awhile to remember the events that transpired a mere couple of hours before and she blushes a deep pink at the thought of them.

She senses something approaching imminently and there is a mixture of fear and familiarity at what it is but she cannot pinpoint why. 

The hidden works in mysterious ways...

She follows the sound of sudden loud splashing and takes care to ensure Squirrel is okay before heading out in search of it. 

The waterfall in front of her cuts a straight shield down obscuring the outside world and the outside world from them. It really was the perfect hideout. Yet there was a narrow path to the right that you could walk around and she follows the trail of pebbles until she gets out and into the open air to see large towering conifers encircling the river like stationary guards to an oasis. 

She spots him below rising up out of a large pool, water droplets running down a toned chest and strong arms. His physique is like nothing she’d seen in her village even from the warriors that were carted in for her mother and Pym to tend to after battle. You could see at least a decade of fighting built into every muscle and fibre of him, chiselling and sculpting him with each opponent, each battle and each war. 

She stares as he with back turned runs a hand through loose long wet locks of brown hair and notices them glistening from the morning sun. One feature that alarms her though are his angry scars still red with dried blood running down his back like snakes. 

She wants to cry out for him at the sight of such extreme damage, her own wounds nothing compared to his now. Who on earth did this to him? Was this part of his indoctrination? 

As if sensing her distress, he turns to her and calls out.

“It seems to me that we keep meeting each other unclothed. I’m noticing a pattern here.”

She laughs, carefree, and calls back, “Better you, than me.”

He rises from the pool without a warning and she resents how her eyes scan all of him before turning away.

“Like what you see, Fey Queen?”

“You should have warned me! I didn’t want to see... THAT.”

Lancelot nimbly clothes himself and feels satisfied when his hood is obscuring his face once more and he hears the slide of metal sheathing into his scabbard.

A smile tugs at his lips watching her at conflict with herself and being so transfixed on watching her, his is oblivious for the long staff aiming straight for his head.

It’s not enough to cause injury, but it hurts like hell.

He spins around as fast as he can to see an old man carrying said stick and a girl with black hair flanking him.

“Oi, old man, what was that for?”

The old man sighs rather dramatically, “Honestly, the youth of today have no respect for their elders. It wasn’t like this during my time...”

Nimue calls out ecstatic from above and runs to greet them, “Father, Morgana! You’re both alive!”

Realisation hits Lancelot like a falling boulder. Staff. Infinity ring. Cape. 

Nimue’s father is...

“Merlin, don’t believe we’ve met.”

Fuck.


	7. Heir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for not updating! Will try and get something posted every other day for all you amazing people! Thank you so much for the comments as they keep me writing. Without further ado!

“Merlin... I’ve heard a lot about you if legend rings true.”

Lancelot outstretches his hand in peace, “Lancelot. Apologies for the cold greeting although you did just hit me with a stick.”

“Was to test your fortitude, young man!” Merlin grabs Lancelot’s outstretched hand and gives it a deathly squeeze. Yet Lancelot is stronger and Merlin feels the karma of iron given back as he holds back tears. “I am not disappointed from what I find!”

Nimue and Morgana after squealing and embracing one another tightly, watch the display unfold.

“They’re like two stags,” Morgana laughs, interest piqued by this strong man.

“Is this really necessary?” Nimue chides, rolling her eyes.

Merlin stares Lancelot out, trying to discern his intentions with his ESP and recently returned magic. 

“It is the duty of every father, to protect their kin. And seeing as you’ve taken an interest in this man, Nimue, I must decide whether he is worthy.”

Lancelot says nothing back but throws daggers at Merlin with his gaze.

“I’ve not taken an interest in him, Father! He’s just a friend of Squirrels that managed to save me.” 

Merlin spins on his heel from being whimsical and staring Lancelot out to address her with all seriousness. 

“Oh really? Why is it that your heart beat has sped up with him, hm? Your cheeks flushed?”

Words run dry in her throat as she scrambles for an excuse, anything to deny what he’s saying when she hasn’t even worked it out for herself.

She looks over to Lancelot who is watching her carefully and with the same expressionless cap on his emotions as when she’d first met him.

“I-he...”

Morgana puts an arm around her shoulder.

“Let’s not quarrel. We’ve come a long way to find you. We rode through the night so as not to waste a precious moment. Can’t the verdict on this man wait?”

Merlin resigns slightly, weariness setting in. “The judgement is not mine to pass, for I already know who he is. Nimue must be the one who decides his fate.”

Morgana looks between all three confused. “What are you talking about?

“Listen, Morgan, Morg, whatever your name is-“

“It’s Morgana!”

“Yeah, sorry, the black veil isn’t convincing me, Morg.”

She’s too stunned to say anything and Lancelot takes this opportunity to get a word in edgeways.

He sighs, “I used to work for the Paladin, but defected. I was taken from my clan as a boy to be indoctrinated into their ways and to be used as a weapon against Fey kind. I’m Fey born but Paladin bred. Hope this answers your questions, girl.

“This raises more!”

Nimue chuckled inwardly at their back and forth. She could think of any two more different in respects to words than them. One a chatterbox and the other a man of few words. 

Merlin rests heavily on his long staff. “He must prove himself, Nimue.”

She moves away from Morgana and in pursuit on Lancelot, hugging her father beforehand.

She looks upon his face and tries to search for his heart through his eyes.

“Well then, what is it to be? The Fey or the Paladin?”

“Or death,” Merlin says with a jesters mirth yet meaning every word. 

Lancelot shoots Merlin a look, and hating having to speak to her with everyone listening says loudly, “I owe no allegiance to either. Both have been a disappointment and a lie. I am done with them both.

He begins to walk away and towards the forests when Merlin calls to him.

“The ash folk...I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw those markings... a strong and powerful clan brought down by kindness-“

He turns around and replies darkly, “More like foolishness at trusting your enemy.”

Nimue had never heard of these tales. She was aware that other Fey clans existed but she was advised not to mingle with them due to the ‘elders concerns over their hostility’. She knew this was a lie now of course, and wondered if the elders had known all along about all of this. 

“King Ban was a good man. Short-sighted maybe but for a time he almost united all the Fey and for that, he has my respect and your people through him.”

Lancelot bows his head low as if carrying some imaginary weight. 

“King?” Nimue starts. “So there has been a ruler of the Fey before?”

His voice drops impossibly low now, “Yes... he was the first and hopefully the last and he was my father...”


	8. Chapter 8

“Your father?!” Merlin nearly chokes on his sentence. “Well this is grave and humbling news indeed.”

With irritation and of a man who demons have been disturbed, he spins around and stalks towards Merlin. 

In a dangerous tone he says, “That is long behind me now. It means nothing and you should take it as such.”

Morgana puts two and two together like lightning. “So you are his heir... which means-“

“Which means you are the rightful King...”

Everyone looks at Nimue as the sentence rolls off her tongue with a dumbfounded expression. 

“Do not worry, Fey Queen. You have been appointed by the Fey themselves. I will not steal your pretty Fey crown. I am no threat to you.”

Nimue doesn’t know what to feel. Anger, incredulity and denial all mix together in her and overcome her enough to rob her of voice. 

“The question is rather, where do your allegiances lie?” Merlin demands pointing his great staff at him, inches away from his chest.”

Lancelot swats it away. “My only allegiance is to the boy and my betrothed.”

Nimue winces at the inevitable calamity that is sure to come between her father and... she’s not sure what he is to her yet.

“Your betrothed?”

“Stop! Please. Enough of the questioning. As far as I’m concerned, he saved Squirrel and he saved me. He is both friend and foe. We should neither trust him nor condemn him.” 

Merlin strokes his beard thoughtfully. “The verdict seems just. I can only hope your wits are the same, Nimue.”

Lancelot shares with her another heated gaze before her eye is caught by Squirrel bounding straight for them.

“Who are you?”

They make camp further into the thickets of the forest after being introduced to Squirrel where they devise a plan of action.

They all gather around in a circle where Merlin proceeds to make markings in the soil.

“With any luck they’ll have gotten to the other island. Uther will have made good on his word I know it. What we need is some form of communication or sign to determine their whereabouts.”

Nimue steps forth. “What about the falcon? Won’t Arthur have sent one already?”

Somehow, the way she says the word ‘Arthur’ makes his skin crawl. He suspected it already but now his suspicions were confirmed. 

He leans back on a trees’ spine simply observing what is being said. They are trying to regroup on some other island away from Albion... from the sounds of it he’d say it was Éire - the land of no politics. That was one way of preserving their kind he supposed. But it would only be a matter of time before the Paladin stormed it from all sides.

Lancelot calls on the hidden, concentrates it in his hand and throws fire in the centre of their circle, destroying Merlin’s markings. 

Merlin, Morgana and even Squirrel are taken aback by this and he has to remind them.

“Ash folk”.

“Not to intrude on your plan, but that won’t work. You’ll be on an island, surrounded with no fortifications. Your best hope is taking over a fortress with your remaining manpower, stocking up on supplies to avoid sieges and making alliances.” 

“We cannot go back on our word, besides which, Arthur is waiting for us. He will have set sail by now”.

Again... the way she mentions his name. It makes him think of dark thoughts... thoughts he had when he was a Paladin. 

Lancelot looks around at them all, stooped over the fire he’d just made where there was once a strategy marked in the earth. 

He gives Nimue a look to say ‘I know what you’ve done’ as his features darken.

“How do you know this ‘Arthur’” hasn’t gone against his word? From the reports of the men I used to command, it wouldn’t be the first time... Or perhaps you were too enthralled by his charming of you into his chambers to notice.”

Morgana spits out her tea whilst Merlin looks unsurprised yet perturbed, privy to the same power of deduction as Lancelot.

Nimue briskly goes to slap him, but just as she is inches away from his face, he catches her arm mid-strike and holds it there.

He brings her closer to him and whispers to her, “I would not do that, Nimue.”

His voice is level, but beneath it she can discern a storm brewing. An onslaught of dark emotion waiting to be unleashed.

There’s something primal about him that awakens something feral in her and she feels a desire to be ‘his’ in this moment. 

Her eyes trail his lips for a fleeting moment before looking up and into the heat of his gaze. She is spellbound by him and the tenderness yet firmness by which he keeps her arm in place. 

Her fire rekindles and rises to the surface with a rebuke, “You have no right to say that to me. I do not have to explain my actions... especially to you.”

Their eye contact lingers a moment longer before she breaks the spell he has cast over her.

“We’ll ride towards the South coast like we agreed. We are stronger together.”

Everyone barring Lancelot nods in agreement and they quickly scurry around to pack and make tracks. 

Ahh... before I forget. Merlin unsheathes the Sword of Power from its scabbard and Nimue watches as it sings to her in the shine of the afternoon sun.

With awe she exclaims, “Thank you father, you looked after it for me.” as she goes to embrace him. 

“Well not quite, my dear. That is perhaps a story for the road ahead!”

Morgana ushers Nimue to her side and in front of the rest of the camp where they can talk freely.

She spies Lancelot packing and tending to his horse from the corner of her eye.

“So... ahem... you and my brother??”

Nimue holds her head in shame as her cheeks blush not out of embarrassment, but guilt.

“I wish I could tell you it was out of love, Morgana, but it was simply two lonely people seeking solace from a shared plight. It all happened very suddenly and I woke up feeling awkward about it afterwards...”

Morgana laughs heartily. “I knew you’d tell me something like that. No offence, but you and my brother didn’t exactly how what I’d call chemistry.”

Relieved, she laughs along with Morgana. It not lost on her how much she’d missed female interaction over the last couple of days.

They prod on through the landscape ahead of the others, carting out a path between stones and trees, the water running alongside them as the ever present guide.

“I’m not blind you know. I might be human but it’s as clear as day.”

“What is?”

Morgana turns around to look at Lancelot and then back at Nimue with a wink.

Nimue smiles before laughing it off, something funny in her stomach fluttering.

“Well I must be blind then because I don’t see it..”

“Not see what? The way he’s basically undressing you with his eyes? The way he rarely lets you out of his sight as though he’s scared he’ll lose you? That’s not some sort of benign attraction, Nimue, that’s love.


End file.
